


How Can Anyone Sleep?

by Five



Category: Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: (its a concept of what was happening off page during a canon event that was very vague), Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 19:40:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12754863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Five/pseuds/Five
Summary: Prince Andrei begins his return from his tour recovering his health in Switzerland and Rome to reunite with his fiancée and marry her, when news reaches him from Moscow.





	How Can Anyone Sleep?

On its way back to Moscow, the party of Prince Andrei Bolkonsky stopped a week outside the city. Several doctors, having fulfilled the terms of their hire, were returning home with the Prince and his new Swiss tutor, M. Dessales. They had been relieved of their labor and sat at an inn table content with wine. Prince Andrei, who sat with them, looked for once at peace with himself and even took wine and dinner with the men. The room was crowded and lit with the low orange glow of candles on the tables. Somewhere, someone played music out of view. The aromas of food and cool, soil-touched wind filled the room and mixed with the conversation that filled the air. These were men, who, like Prince Andrei, knew nothing of recent affairs in society, and were concentrated on matters of right now and the next day.  
“No,” Prince Andrei told Dessales, looking over the rim of his glass, “my sister has been teaching him French for two years now. He’s very bright, but he doesn’t listen.”

  
“He doesn’t listen to Princess Marya?”

“No, no one does.”

“Do you?” asked Dessales.

“Of course,” He glanced off and cleared his throat.

“Naturally.”

“I think he’s learned that about her, perhaps, but that’s the problem. S’il voudrait apprendre… but you’re an intelligent man. You understand.”

“I think so,” Dessales began to elaborate on some of his thoughts, but was interrupted by the arrival of a new bottle of wine.

“You’ll have another drink with us, Prince?” asked the lead doctor, an old-fashioned Muscovite named Antonov. He set down the bottle and leaned his fat body back into the wooden chair, smiling.

“Ah, I’ve had enough already.”

“I insist, I won’t let you be our benefactor and not take some enjoyment for your own.”

“Alright, you’ve won me,” Prince Andrei said, and held out a hand, “One glass, and don’t fill it too high.”

“To your good health,” said Antonov, “may it last forever.”

“Then you’ll all be out of a job!” Prince Andrei let himself laugh, and punctuated it with a sip of wine. He leaned back in his seat, glass in one hand, head rested in the other. He was weary of traveling, but anxiously and enthusiastically awaited a return. He thought of Natasha, but found it difficult to conjure in his mind the whole image of her face. His closed eyes instead swept the curves of every word of every letter, and delighted in flashes of her dark eyes and gleaming smile. He opened his eyes and put away his careless smile, returning to present company. The last bottle of wine had been empty and the men dispersed to find their rooms.

“Are you Prince Andrei Bolkonsky?” a voice came from another table. Andrei stopped and turned to back to see a small, familiar looking man in a traveling coat, searching for something in his pocket.

“I am.”

“What fortune! I’d have gone half way to Rome after you.” He handed Prince Andrei a letter in a cream colored envelope, “from Princess Bolkonskaya, of some urgency. If I’ve heard correctly, it’d be best to read in privacy.”

“Heard? From whom?”

“Anyone, your excellency,” the man said, and realizing he’d spoken out of turn, quit the room.

Andrei didn’t dare read the letter until he reached the room. Ideally, he’d have locked the door if not for Antonov, who he was boarded with. He broke the seal cautiously. Fear pressed him.  
“And why?” he muttered, “It’s soon enough. Why should I be afraid? There is nothing to fear, except perhaps another letter about how my father chooses to conduct himself with his Frenchwoman.”

He drew out the letter and unfolded it. The door opened. Andrei jolted and turned, and finding it was just the wind slammed and locked the door. He sat back on his bed and started to read. The words danced around whatever they’d been written for. Paragraphs of nothing- or rather of everything, countless details, the exact minutiae of the house, that rambled too long without saying anything new. It was only growing anxiety that kept him reading. The Old Prince was still bitter, Nikolenka was still young. But something about the building nothingness prepared him for the worst. Towards the last paragraph, the letters grew shakier, further apart from each other. A new paragraph began.  
“...mon cher André, je suis désolée, mais…”

Je suis désolée, mais, he didn’t finish reading, but let the letter drop. He knew. Je suis désolée. I’m sorry, but. But it’s over. Unconsciously, he ran a hand across the scarring which reformed at the back of his head where it had once been struck- as if to check if it hadn’t closed. He wanted to be shocked, to be floored, to be devastated but he sat there. He sat still, and let himself be blank.

  
The awestruck tears which had leapt into his throat when he first heard her sing so many lives ago sank back into his chest and burned there. A self-mocking laugh escaped his lips, at the foolish hope that had been building in him. When the laughter was finished, it left a familiar blank grimace which had been absent so long. His hand reached back out for the letter but instead it curled into itself and shook at his side. He took himself away and opened the door, to go...somewhere. But he had nowhere to go. He pressed his shoulder against the doorframe and peered out at the darkened hallway. Across from him was a half-open window which led out to a starless sky. And under the vastness of a sky which not long ago had shone that vivid blue, he found himself a negligible piece of that infinite world which had once opened itself to him and shown him its secrets.

“Still awake, Prince Andrei?” It was Antonov.

“How can anyone sleep?” He asked, something curious in his eyes, “On such a night like this?”

 


End file.
